


Sharing a Bed

by Tarlan



Category: Survivors (TV 2008)
Genre: Character Study, Community: smallfandomfest, M/M, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg and Tom are forced to share a bed as the group settle down for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing a Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for:  
>  **smallfandomfest** FEST15:  
>  **Trope Bingo** Round 3: sharing a bed  
>  **MMoM 2014** : DAY 23

"You'd think with most of the population dead we wouldn't need to share a bed," Tom sniped, and Greg rolled his eyes, mostly because he knew whose bed Tom would prefer to be sharing right now.

However, even if Tom was the last man alive on Earth - literally - Greg didn't believe Anya would be interested in him. An apocalypse didn't change someone's sexual orientation - not for the long haul - and Anya was like Tom in that she preferred the soft curves of a woman - and a wet pussy - to a man's hard muscle and dick. Of course for a time Greg had wondered if Anya was bisexual rather than a lesbian, not caring what genitalia she found when she stuck her hands down the front of someone's trousers, especially after she hooked up with Tom for a while. 

They weren't together for long and Greg wondered if she had walked away from Tom because he was one big, walking dick of the wrong kind.

Except that was unfair.

Samantha Willis had revealed Tom's dirty secret, that he was a criminal, and that he had only escaped from spending possibly life in prison because over ninety-five percent of the country - and likely the world - was now dead, and that included the prison guards. Willis had wanted Tom executed for his crimes - both those committed before the apocalypse, and those since the world came to an end.

The trial was a farce, and it was quite shocking when Greg realized that he was wrong for finding Tom guilty, and for condemning Tom for his actions.

Tom was a killer. Yes. A sociopath, or psychopath or some other type of 'path because he rarely showed any remorse for the lives he took. He had killed to protect the group, but he had also killed when it was the right thing to do. He had done the dirty deed that no one else was prepared to do when that kid was gut wounded. He'd shown compassion, or at the very least pragmatism, by ending the kid's suffering because there were no hospitals anymore. There was no operating theatre and no surgeons to repair the damage, or even any good drugs readily available to keep the kid pain-free while he slowly died of a ruptured spleen. The closest to any help they could offer was Anya - a medical student - and she knew there was nothing anyone could do except wait for the kid to die a long, drawn-out and agonizing death.

It was a hard truth to face after all the antagonism and back biting and accusations that had flown about over Tom's apparent lack of humanity, that they needed Tom to be a killer. They needed a muzzled guard dog to protect the group from outsiders looking to build new empires on the ashes of the old world. People like Willis and her Draconian policies, and Smithson and his coal mine full of slaves.

Perhaps some of the people in the mine did deserve to be shackled up and put to work rather than to death, but in those few days Greg had learned that others, like the kid with the gut injury, were just innocent people walking the roads and looking for a safe haven. They'd stumbled across Billy, and he'd given them sweet promises before delivering them to a fate almost worse than death.

Greg still felt a little ashamed because he had thought the worst of Tom for the longest time, refusing to trust him. Abby had faith in Tom though, and Tom had come back for them all. His timely arrival that day had saved Greg from being hanged. He saved him again at the airfield, by taking out the sniper on the tower. Except the bastard had managed to get himself shot and had then stowed away on Landry's plane, leaving the rest of them turning every blade of grass looking for him futilely for days.

The mattress shifted under Tom's weight and, reluctantly, Greg moved over a few more inches to give him a little more room. After all, Tom was still healing from the gunshot wound he'd taken almost two weeks earlier. Even though Tom was as tough as nails, refusing to allow an injury to keep him down for long, Greg had seen him wince a few times when he pulled on the shoulder too hard. 

Tom was right, of course. Ninety-five percent of the world's population had succumbed the genetically engineered virus that was supposed to save thousands rather than kill billions. So with so few people left alive, you would think there would be no need to share a bed with anyone unless you really wanted to have them with you. However, the group had grown a few members since Tom's disappearance and return a few days later, mostly kids who'd been on the road with her son Peter, and as Abby liked every one to stay close, they had all settled into an old farmhouse for this one night with the intention of moving on again tomorrow.

The farmhouse only had eight rooms in total so everyone was sharing with somebody.

Greg stared up at the ceiling, only just visible in the darkness of the room because of the soft starlight through the large windows. With all the factories gone, and so few cars moving on the roads, even the cities had clear night skies these days. Not that they ventured too close to them because, towards the end, there was no one left to collect and incinerate the dead. He suspected most of the dead still lay where they had died. Probably in their own beds.

He felt the mattress shift again, and again, gentle yet rhythmic. Confusion gave way to realization seconds later when it became obvious what Tom was doing. A spark of lust had Greg's cock responding even as he sat up in disbelief.

"Are you masturbating?"

The movement stuttered for a moment before continuing on.

"You have a... problem with that?"

Greg froze for a moment while he thought about it. Did he have a problem with Tom masturbating in the bed their were sharing for the night? Too right he did.

"Yes. I have a problem with that."

Tom let out a deep and frustrated sigh.

"Fine. I'll go find someplace else-." 

Tom's breath caught in his throat as Greg leaned over and wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a tug, taking a very big chance because he had no evidence that Tom was even remotely bisexual. He was risking life and limb here - literally.

"The problem is me lying here frustrated while you play with yourself," Greg added when it became apparent that Tom had no objection to having another man's hand on his cock.

"I'm not exactly flexible enough to do you at the same time," he replied tightly, and Greg knew it was because of the shoulder injury, so he rolled onto his side, encouraging Tom to face him too so he could take both cocks in hand. It had been months since Greg last had a bed partner for sex, and he came faster than he anticipated, coating his hand, and he kept going until Tom had finished too.

The clean-up was accomplished in silence, and feeling relaxed for the first time since the world went to hell, Greg laid back and let the endorphins ease him towards sleep. Just before he dropped off, he heard a whisper almost too low for him to catch.

"Thanks."

END

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End file.
